Never In Our Favor
by TiTivillus
Summary: There was nothing Dean wouldn't do for Sam. He would give his own life in a heartbeat for the kid. Would kill for him- no questions asked. Even if it went against every single fiber of his being, Dean would still do it. Hurt/Comfort. Teenchesters. AU. Slight Crossover with The Hunger Games.


**Title:** Never In Our Favor

 **Summary:** There was nothing he wouldn't do for the shaggy-haired kid currently buried against his side. _Nothing._ He would give his own life in a heartbeat for Sam. Would kill for him- no questions asked. Even if it went against every single fiber of his being. Dean would do it. Hurt/Comfort. AU. Slight Crossover with The Hunger Games. Teenchesters.

 **Warnings:** Rated T. Alternative Universe. Dystopian World. Violence. Swearing.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything.

 **Author's notes:** Don't worry guys… this isn't supposed to become another WIP. I just re-watched the Hunger Games the other night and I couldn't help thinking about how well Sam and Dean would fit the genre… It's like the whole story is made for them. And how could I resist?

* * *

The morning air in district twelve was crisp and cool, settling on Dean's bare skin like a layer of ice when he cracked an eye open, squinting against the sunlight that filtered in through the broken window of their ramshackle house.

He untangled his arm from the blankets only to be stopped short when he noticed the dark mob of hair peeking out from beneath the covers right next to him.

Dean stilled his movements, fond smile spreading on his lips when he took in the Sammy-sized lump that was draped over the better half of his bed and comfortably snoring into the jut of his collarbone.

"What are you doing here, midget?" Dean whispered, reaching out to tenderly brush Sam's bangs from his forehead. "You stealing my blankets again?"

It might have been the answer to why his torso was currently uncovered and shivering in the cool morning air, while the twelve-year-old kid on the bed next to him was curled up comfortably beneath a warm quilt and his blanket.

Dean didn't mind, really.

He would gladly go cold every single night for the rest of his life if it meant his brother didn't have to freeze.

Tracing a thumb across Sam's cheek to wipe at the tiny smudge of dirt that caked his skin, Dean found himself frowning when he took a closer look at the boy's face.

Sam's cheekbones were too pronounced, the cut of his chin too angular and there were dark circles beneath his eyes that gave him a haunted look.

Dean swallowed, guilt gnawing on the insides of his chest.

Sam hadn't been eating enough to keep up with his growth spurt and Dean knew part of the reason for that was because the kid was too afraid of taking more than his share from their already limited supply of food.

He should have noticed the signs earlier, should have said something when Sam refused to finish up whatever little they had for dinner and lunch, but the truth was that Dean went hungry himself most nights and the hard days spent working at the coal mines were sapping at his own energy, leaving him at the brink of exhaustion and too tired to keep close track of his brother's eating habits.

"Damnit, Sammy…" Dean breathed out, closing his eyes in guilt over not having been attentive enough to recognize his kid's waning strength and weight loss.

After all, it was his job to protect his little brother- to watch out for him and make sure he was healthy.

Dean straightened up a little, gently slipping out from beneath his brother's slumbering form and trying not to rouse him in the process.

Too late.

"D'n?" Sam's face scrunched up in sleepy confusion and Dean mentally scolded himself for not having been more careful- especially seeing as how the kid needed to get some rest if he wanted to get his strength back.

"Right here, buddy," Dean lightly ruffled the boy's auburn hair, letting his fingers linger against the kid's scalp for just a second longer than necessary before withdrawing them and walking over to their closet. "Try to get some more sleep. It's still early."

Too early to be functioning and alive if you asked him.

But the deer was already up and about at this dead hour of the morning and Dean needed to bring down game if they wanted to have dinner tonight.

"You leaving?" Sam asked, his voice hoarse from lack of use.

He propped himself up on one arm, disheveled hair falling into his face as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, the childlike gesture making him seem even younger than his twelve years.

Dean pulled a clean shirt from the closet and put it on, letting out a soft sigh when the threadbare fabric settled over his abs like a second skin.

He'd been bulking up a lot this past couple of months, the combined strain of working at the mines and keeping up with the rigorous boot camp training their dad put them through having shown some noticable results.

Some of his older shirts didn't even fit him anymore because of all the muscle he's put on.

"Going on a hunt. You know the drill," Dean said and then felt his heart squeeze tightly in his chest when he caught the forlorn look on his little brother's face. "C'mon Sammy, don't give me that look. I'll only be gone for a couple of hours."

"But today's your day off…" Sam pouted, voice dangerously wobbly and eyes glistening sadly in the dim morning light.

Dean sighed, walking back towards the bed and sitting down at the foot of the ratty mattress. He hadn't realized Sam's emotions were stretched so thin, but it only made sense with the approaching date of Sammy's first reaping and all…

Dean gulped at the mere thought, everything inside of him revolting at the painful reminder of how much was at stake this year- of how much would change with Sammy's name being thrown into that hated urn- making him one of the potential contestants for the 74th Hunger Games.

"Hey…" Dean breathed out, resting a palm against his little brother's ankle and trying not to think too much about the fact that he could have easily circled the kid's thin bones with his thumb and index finger. "You know I'm always going for a hunt in the mornings. I'll be back in an hour or two, alright? You'll barely notice me gone."

Sam's gaze dropped down to his lap, his shoulder sagging disappointedly. "I guess…"

"Sammy—"

"It's fine Dean," Sam gave back softly, worrying his lower lip and Dean squeezed his brother's ankle in silent reassurance.

"I just thought…" he lowered his head, cheeks flushing in embarrassment over whatever it was he wasn't telling Dean. "I thought we could maybe spend the day together. Nothing big, just- you know- just hanging out before…"

Dean swallowed.

 _ **Before.**_

 _Before one of us gets reaped for the games tomorrow._

 _Before our little family gets ripped apart even further- ruined beyond recognition._

 _Before we get separated forever._

Sam didn't have to finish his sentence for Dean to understand him loud and clear.

Dean was one of the top favorites for this year's hunger games. Everybody in district twelve knew him- knew the hard working, older Winchester kid with the charming voice and the wicked card game skills that have earned him quite a few rabbits and leafs of bread on the black market before.

They also knew that he sometimes paid his debts in tickets- ready to banter his own life away when times were tough and he had no other way of meeting month's ends.

Dean's name was probably in that crystal ball more often than any other person's within district twelve. And yet he had never been drawn before.

This year was different, though.

He could feel it in the air- could hear the foreboding whisper of change in the wind, could sense the tingle of excitement like a soldier waiting for war.

Chances were high for him to get reaped tomorrow and Sam- being the sensible, smart kid that he was- knew it too.

Hell, Sammy had been talking about nothing else these past weeks, shooting Dean soulful, teary-eyed looks whenever he thought his older brother wouldn't notice and being unnaturally clingy.

And Dean had tried so hard to play it cool- to not let his own fears show or give away how panicked he felt himself at the prospect of getting thrown into that special kind of hell- where lives were reduced to nothing but raw survival instincts and brutality.

"I'm scared, Dean… really scared," the boy admitted in a frail whisper. His shoulders were trembling and Dean's heart gave a tight, painful squeeze at the sight.

Once more he was nearly overwhelmed with the force of his love for this kid- with the way Sam could turn him from rock-solid confidence into jelly in a matter of seconds.

The urge to comfort- to _protect-_ was fierce enough to steal the breath from his lungs.

"Hey," Without really thinking about it, Dean scooted up on the bed and wrapped an arm around the boy's shoulders, pulling him against his side.

Sam immediately melted into the embrace, tucking his small frame against his big brother's like he belonged there.

"I can't lose you, Dean. What happens if you get picked tomorrow and me and dad are left to watch you get kil—"

"Hey, stop it," Dean cut his brother off, noticing Sam's rapid breathing and the way the kid was working himself up over his own words- probably picturing Dean's gruesome demise in his very imaginative twelve-year-old mind. "That's not gonna happen, alright?"

"You don't know that! I'm not a little kid anymore, Dean, I know you've been paying the dealers at the market with tickets. How many times is your name in there this time- sixty, seventy times?"

 _Eighty-nine._

That's how often.

But Sam didn't need to know that.

The kid was already worked up enough over this without Dean adding fuel to the fire.

"Look," he sighed, running calloused fingers over his face. "I know it looks bad… but I've never been reaped before, right? And I've had plenty of tickets in the past years, too. Maybe it's just a lucky streak or something, huh?"

Dean jostled his brother's shoulders playfully to get a response out of him, but Sam only stiffened further under his palm, eyes brimming with the undeniable wetness of an impending breakdown.

It nearly broke Dean's heart to see his little brother in so much emotional pain over this.

"Oh, c'mon, Sammy… you gotta give me something to work with here. This isn't exactly easy for me either, okay? But even if I _do_ get reaped—" Sam let out a hitched little breath and Dean was quick to do damage control, "—which _won't_ happen- I can promise you that I will do everything in my might to leave this arena alive, you hear me?"

It was true.

Dean had been speculating with the idea for a while now- had taken extra training in preparation for the worst case scenario, because if he really got chosen for the Hunger Games he wouldn't leave a single stone unturned in his quest to get back to his little brother- wouldn't rest until Sammy was back by his side, alive and healthy and in one piece.

Because there was nothing he wouldn't do for the shaggy-haired kid currently buried against his side.

 _Nothing._

He would give his own life in a heartbeat for Sam.

Would kill for him- no questions asked.

Even if it went against every single fiber of his being.

Even if it meant that his opponents were every bit as much of a victim as he was- some of them in Sam's age - some of them _children._

He would do it, would take on a lifetime of guilt and bad conscience without a second's hesitance if only it meant that he would be allowed to see his brother again- allowed to hold the kid in his arms and hear the sound of his laughter and take another look at those dimples that only ever appeared when Sam was putting all of his heart into a smile.

"I _hate_ this life… I can't do this without you, Dean," Sam choked out, a first tear spilling from huge watery eyes, even as he quickly wiped at his cheeks.

Dean had to bite his lower lip to keep his composure at his brother's grief- his own throat burning with repressed emotion. " You're not alone, Sammy. Even if-if something happens… you always have dad, right?"

Sam snorted at that, grimacing through another bout of involuntary tears. "Dad doesn't even care about us! He's not been our father since the day mom died in that arena and you know it!"

"That's not true!" Dean gave back harshly, something snapping inside of him at the way Sam talked about their parents. "Dad loves us. Just because he doesn't show it so often, doesn't make it less true. He's just a little… he's not taking it well, okay? You know how he gets around this time of the year… the reaping reminds him of Mom and—"

"You always defend him, Dean! You always take his side like the fact that he's barely talking to us or that he can't even go to work and support this family doesn't matter!"

"Because it _**doesn't**_!" Dean fired back, withdrawing a little from Sam's side.

"Nothing like this matters when it comes to family. Dad had to watch the love of his life get killed on a fucking plasma-screen! He'll never be the same again, so quit waiting for him to magically turn into Mr. Nice Guy. It's not gonna happen!"

Sam looked up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes- the pain glistening inside them way too much to be carried within a twelve-year-old's heart.

"I know that…" the kid whispered brokenly, squeezing his eyes shut as another tear dropped from his eyelashes. "And it's okay. I don't need him to be _anything_. You've always been taking care of me anyway, not like I need him to ."

Dean' breath caught in his throat at the way Sam looked up at him, all snot-nosed and with big, wet, blotchy eyes full of admiration and love.

And just like that he deflated, all the wind being taken out of his sails.

"Sammy…" he ground out, wondering if a heart could truly break, because his felt like being encircled by a cruel hand that slowly squeezed the life from him.

"It's true… you're like… like my mom and dad in one," Sam went on with a sniffle and a wobbly half-smile and Dean yanked his brother forward into another crushing hug.

Chick-flick-moments be damned.

They weren't usually this cuddly, with Sam growing like a week and getting older now, their hugs and affectionate brotherly roughhousing coming few and far between these days, but Dean wasn't going to deny the kid the physical contact when it was so obvious that he needed it.

Hell, at this point they both needed it.

"What if they pick me?" the question was muffled against Dean's shoulder, Sam's tears soaking the worn-thin fabric of Dean's shirt as they held each other.

The older brother shuddered at the possibility- squeezing his eyes shut in fierce denial.

"You're not gonna get picked."

"But what if I do?" Sam protested, voice turning a little whiny.

It wasn't like the thought had never crossed Dean's mind before.

Actually, he had thought about pretty much nothing else these past few months approaching Sam's first reaping.

But the idea of his baby brother being out there in an arena- completely alone and defenseless while every other game contestant was out for his blood- was unimaginable.

The last time Dean had allowed himself to play the possibilities out in his mind, he'd spent the night heaving in their bathroom, throwing up the meager contents of his stomach and crying bitter tears of fear and helpless desperation into the porcelain bowl.

His brother has always been too emotional- too sensitive and kind and innocent, hell, the kid couldn't even come join Dean on his hunts because he couldn't bear to watch animals getting killed- even if it was _necessary_ \- even if his stomach was grumbling for food and his ribs were poking out from beneath the waxy white of his chest.

That why Dean knew his little brother would _never_ be able to kill another human being-not even if his own life depended on it.

Which made him an easy prey for the rest of the contestants- all of which would be trying to go after the weakest link in the chain- someone who refused to defend himself out of the goodness of his way too big heart.

But Dean couldn't let himself think that way- couldn't allow himself to even just acknowledge the possibility of the kid he had raised- the kid that owned ever single piece of his fractured heart getting ripped out of his arms and thrown into the hands of the presumptuous, bloodthirsty vultures in district 1, who's only way of entertainment was watching people kill each other in a real-life battle of 'survival of the fittest'.

"It's your first year, Sammy. Your name's only gonna be in there once. There's no chance they're gonna pick you, alright?"

"I- I don't want to kill anybody, Dean… I can't do it."

Dean squeezed his eyes shut and hugged Sam tighter, feeling the kid's spine poking through the thin fabric of his shirt and trying really hard not to think about how fragile his little brother was- how easy it would be to sneak up on him while he slept and—

The thought almost turned his stomach.

"You won't. You won't get picked and you won't be forced to kill anyone, you hear me? I won't let it happen. Not in a million thousand years."

"Dean," Sam protested weakly, shaking his head against his brother's firm chest. "There's nothing you could do—"

"Watch me," Dean responded with determination etched into his features. "You will not have to go into that arena- not under my watch. I'll never let it happen, okay?"

Sam grabbed a hold of his older brother's T-shirt and bunched it up as he pressed his cheek right above Dean's beating heart. "Promise?"

A beat of silence preceded his answer. "I promise, Sammy."

It would be the first promise to his little brother Dean ever broke.

* * *

The next morning was filled with silence.

Sam fidgeted a little in the grey jacket Dean had given him, the scratchy material dwarfing him as it sat loosely on his shoulders, only the tip of Sam's fingers peeking out from the too long sleeves.

"I look ridiculous…" Sam huffed, having been in a bitchy mood all morning and finally having found an excuse to vent his frustration.

"No more than usual," Dean scoffed lightly, trying to elevate the grave mood, even when his joke fell flat, residing in a bitch-face from his little brother.

"Alright, alright… take it off," Dean relented with an annoyed eye-roll, gesturing for Sam to get a move on.

They were already a little behind schedule and Dean didn't want to draw any unwanted attention onto them by arriving too late to the reaping.

God knows, these sons of bitches wouldn't hesitate to punish them for it and the last thing Dean would be able to bear was his baby brother getting backhanded or whipped by one of these sadistic bastards for something as trivial as being tardy.

Loosening his own tie from around his neck, Dean grabbed Sam's bony arm and pulled him closer. "You can go in the dress shirt and tie. The jacket's still too big on your scrawny ass."

"But what are you gonna wear?" Sam looked up at him with a frown.

Dean popped the collar on his little brother's shirt, hoping his brother didn't notice the way his fingers shook. "Dad wore this tie when he took mom out on their first date…"

He didn't know where the words were coming from- Dean usually never talked about their mom, the words bringing up far too many painful memories for them to be worth it.

But one glance at Sam's widening eyes- at the bright flare of longing and hopefulness in his little brother's gaze was enough to let him continue.

"He's stolen it from his own dad at the time because he thought it would impress her…" Dean snorted, shaking his head at the memory of his father telling him the story time and time again. "Turns out he didn't have the first clue how to tie it, so when he arrived at the scene mom had to show him how to do it."

"She taught him?" Sam was soaking up every single word- basking in the rare occasion of being let in on more details about their mother.

Dean felt a little bad for not bringing her up more often- for denying his little brother the chance to learn more about their mom when he was suffering every bit as much from her loss as Dean was.

It was just always hard to bring her up and to dig up the sacred memories of Mary Dean had stored away in a treasure chest in the dustiest corners of his mind.

Turning Sam around by his narrow shoulders until he was facing the full-length mirror on the wall, Dean settled behind the kid and reached around Sam's neck to grab the dark blue fabric of the tie.

Their mother taught their dad, their dad taught Dean on the day of his first reaping.

And Dean would teach Sam.

He waited for his brother to meet his gaze in the mirror before smiling softly. "Wanna learn how to do this? Prepare for the horde of ladies that will be swooning over you soon?"

Dean was only half joking.

Sam might not have filled out as much as he had yet, but given a few more years- when Sam had grown into his body and put his dashing smile and dimples to full effect- Dean didn't doubt that his brother would have quite a few girls falling madly in love with him.

As of right now, Dean wasn't really sure if Sam even thought about girls- much less about dating them.

The playful teasing was just part of his duties as a big brother.

And seeing the kid flush with obvious embarrassment was totally worth it. "I'm not like you, Dean… Girls aren't interested in me. Not like that anyway…"

"Well, they don't know what they're missing," Dean gave back with a loose shrug, knowing that it was just Sam's low self-esteem and inert shyness talking. "Guess we can't all be ladies' men, huh?"

"You mean hormone-driven cavemen..." Sam corrected.

"Shut up," Dean groused good-naturedly, starting to cross the wide end of the tie over the narrow end and looping it around. "You even paying attention?"

Sam's face scrunched up in concentration as he watched his brother's movements closely.

He nodded.

"Good. Make sure you pull the wide end up and through the loop around your neck- just like that—"

Dean held the front of the knot loosely with his index finger and thumb before bringing one end of the tie down and pulling it tight. "There you go, all set, Mr. Fancy-Pants."

Sam reached up to touch the knot with childlike wonder in his eyes. "Thanks... for showing me this."

Dean cringed slightly at the words, hearing the slight tremor in Sam's words and sensing another chick-flick-moment on the rise.

Because their mom should have taught them, but she was dead.

Or at the very least their dad should have taught Sam, but he was barely holding it together enough to take care of himself, being so filled with bitter resentment over the cruel murder of his wife that most nights were spent drinking himself into a stupor.

John's constant mental and emotional ignorance towards them had started triggering frustration and bitterness inside both of his son's hearts, but there was little they could do about the way their father was gradually killing himself with guilt over what had happened to their mother.

And with their dad being in such a bad place and their mother being dead, the only person Sam had left to rely on was Dean.

So it was natural for him to play the caretaker- to be Sam's protector and to teach him stuff like any well-meaning, loving parent would do for their child.

And that was really what it all boiled down to- Sam having grown up under Dean's tender love and caretaking- Dean having been the kid's guardian and protector in more ways than some of the parents in district 12 ever were.

Dean tried to put on a smile as he combed Sam's hair to the side with his fingers, trying to tame the unruly mane and failing at the task when a few tufts of hair immediately proceeded to fall back into the kid's face and eyes.

"Time to get going," he said reluctantly after a moment of silence.

Sam tangled his fingers into Dean's shirt, holding him tight. "Wait, I got something for you."

Before Dean got the chance to protest, Sam had pulled a battered-looking newspaper-wrapped parcel from his pockets and handed it to his big brother.

Dean stared down at the small parcel with wide eyes, blinking up at Sam in surprise. "What is it?"

"Only one way to find out," Sam smiled, bumping the wrapped present against Dean's chest in a silent prompt for him to take it.

"Sammy…"

"Just open it up, Dean."

Dean sighed, before taking the parcel from his brother's small hands and ripping it open.

His breath caught in his throat when he looked at the golden penchant that was nestled inside the ripped paper.

"Where did you get this from?"

His own voice sounded garbled and foreign in his ears, his heart beating a mile a minute in his chest.

This didn't look like something self-made, hell it didn't even look like something Sammy had found on the streets.

This looked like it had been bought from the market. Or even worse, a store.

And they couldn't afford that.

The soft smile vanished from Sam's lips as he gauged his older brother's reaction to the present. "Don't you like it?"

"That wasn't my question, Sam. Where did you get this? Did you _steal_ it?"

"No!" Sam exclaimed, horror etched into his face at the mere suggestion.

"Then what?" Dean snapped, fear and helplessness making his composure crack. "Did you pay for it with your name? What the hell were you thinking, doing something so reckless the day before the reap—"

"Ash gave it to me!" Sam cut him off with a shout, eyes wide and glistening as his own chest rose and fell too quickly in shock over Dean's reaction. "I was helping him setting up his booth… carrying cargo and stuff. Nothing big, just helping wherever I could. He said I could pick one of his necklaces as payment."

"Ash…?" Dean repeated, trying to catch up with his little brother's words.

Sam looked dangerously close to crying and when he glanced down to where Dean's hand was clamped around his wrist, Dean could see finger shaped red marks on his little brother's skin.

He let go of his brother's arm as if burnt by his skin, feeling sick.

"I-I'm sorry if you don't like it…" Sam said, voice sounding like he was trying very hard not to break out in tears at what he perceived as rejection. "I can go and ask Ash if I can trade it for something else or—"

"Damnit, Sammy, that's not it," Dean swallowed, locking his jaw as he crouched down before his little brother and carefully took the necklace out of its wrapper.

It was a horned penchant, covered in gold paint, tied to a leather string.

Dean blinked the wetness from his eyes before looking up to meet his little brother's gaze. "I- I love it."

"Really?" Sam asked hopefully, the dark shadow that had darkened his features just a second ago slowly vanishing from his young face.

The older brother nodded, too choked up for words and pulled the necklace over his head, the weight of the golden amulet settling comfortably against his chest, almost as if it had always belonged there in the first place.

"I'm sorry for freaking out like that. You got me so scared there for a second."

The thought of Sam ever doing what he did- of his little brother selling away tickets with his name to buy _jewelry_ was unbearable.

Dean clamped a hand down on the back of Sam's neck and his little brother went into his arms willingly, burying his face in Dean's stomach. "It's for protection- to keep you save, just in case—"

"Thanks, Sammy," Dean whispered into his hair. "It means the world to me."

* * *

The sing-up was one of the worst parts.

Dean held Sam's hand the entire time they spent lined up for the name-taking and when they finally reached the desk, Sam looked like he wanted nothing more than to run away from the scene.

He was unnaturally quiet and anxious, squirming around in his spot beside Dean.

"Will it hurt?" Sam asked nervously, looking up at Dean with a faint blush of embarrassment on his cheeks.

The kid was probably beating himself up inside for not being brave and fearless, but Dean still remembered his first reaping like it was yesterday and he couldn't hold it against Sammy to be scared out of his mind.

Every year Dean felt like that 12-year-old boy again, getting shoved around and kept in line and basically prepared for his own demise, like fish sitting in a barrel and waiting to be shot.

"No, it won't hurt," Dean reassures, shooting the peacekeeper at the registration desk a warning glower and hoping that dumb bastard got the message. "It's just for identification, ok? They're just gonna take a little bit… you won't even feel a thing."

Sam chewed his lower lip nervously, eyeing the syringe the peacekeeper was holding with a mixture of contempt and fear.

Dean squeezed his palm with what he hoped would come off as a reassuring smile.

"Hey, I know it sucks, but try to relax, okay?" he soothed, _hating_ the fact that the kid had to go through this and wishing with everything inside of him that he could somehow prevent this all from happening.

Sam nodded bravely, pressing his lips together as he stepped up to the table and untangled his fingers from Dean's.

He extended his hand to the peacekeeper, who had watched the exchange disinterestedly from behind the black screen of his helmet.

Not wasting any time, the man snatched Sam's arm and plunged the needle inside the kid's fingertip without warning or preparation, causing the twelve-year-old to hiss in pain.

"Fucking watch it!" Dean barked, the sound of his brother's discomfort propelling him forward. "You get off on hurting kids, you goddamn' bastard?"

Two more guards dressed in white seemed to materialize out of thin air as they stepped up from the side, seizing Dean's arms and holding him back.

"Name, age and family status," the peacekeeper at the desk demanded and Sam was torn between answering the question and shooting worried glances back to where his brother was held in a death grip by the guards.

"Sam Winchester and he's twelve." Dean yanked his arms free from the men's grasp and shot them both death-glares over the shoulder, before pulling Sam back against his chest in a protective gesture.

"Family status?" the peacekeeper insisted, taking down the given information in neat handwriting and Dean suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.

"He's twelve years old, for god's sake, what do you think- that he's divorced with two kids?"

When the peacekeeper just continued to glare demandingly at Dean, the older Winchester let out a slow breath, telling himself that he needed to get Sam away from here.

"Single," Dean spat out, trying hard not to sound derogatory on top of all the swearing he had already subjected the man to, because he knew it would only end up getting him in trouble.

"And what's your name?" the guy asked with a gleeful undertone in his voice. Dean knew this wouldn't end well for him anyway, so there was no sense in playing nice. "Dean Winchester. And before you ask, I'm sixteen, I love lazy mornings, breakfast in bed and frisky women."

"Dean!" Sam hissed in warning, eyes wide with panic as he picked up on the tangible tension between the peacekeeper and his older brother.

"You think you're being funny, huh?"

Dean didn't dignify the question with an answer.

The guard forcefully grabbed his arm and slammed the needle down into his skin with far more force than necessary.

Dean had to clench his teeth and breathe through the pain, but he didn't give the bastard the satisfaction of any other outward sign of his discomfort.

"Add ten more tickets to his name," the peacekeeper ordered in a gruff voice, gesturing towards the large box with white pieces of paper in the middle of the sign-up desk.

"No!" Sam whined, shooting forward to wrap his fingers around the pristine uniform of the peacekeeper. "Please don't do this- he didn't mean it. He was just joking!"

"Get the hell off me, you little brat!" the man hissed, ripping his arm free.

Dean bristled, jaw clenched tight enough to break.

"C'mon, Sammy, let's get going," Dean gently dragged his little brother away from the desk and sank into a crouch before him, pulling Sam's palm towards his chest to examine the puncture wound on the tip of his index finger.

"Why did you do that?" Sam demanded in an accusing tone, eyes brimming with emotion.

Dean didn't look up from Sam's hand as he tenderly prodded the tiny incision and pulled a bandana from the back of his trousers to tenderly wrap Sam's finger with.

"Why did you have to make him so angry? It's almost like you want them to pick you!"

"What the hell, Sam?" Dean demanded, his voice sharp like a whip cracking skin.

Sam deflated almost instantly, lower lip wobbling dangerously and gaze dropping to the floor. "Sometimes it's like you d-don't even care if they pick you…"

Dean **_did_** care.

He didn't want to leave his family behind in this shithole- didn't want to leave Sam alone with their dad- especially given how bad John was off.

And he certainly didn't want to die.

But he would gladly do it if it meant his brother would be spared from the same fate.

"That's not true, Sammy. I do care—I just—"

"Hey, you two!" an angry voice suddenly rang through the air, cutting off whatever he was going to say next. "Back to your respective rows- the reaping is about to begin."

Sam's breath hitched and Dean's heart clenched painfully in his chest.

He grabbed the back of Sam's head and yanked him forward, pressing his own forehead against Sam's for a few seconds, no words exchanged between them- none needed- just the sound of their unsteady breathing as they both struggled to rein their emotions.

"Don't leave me," Sam begged in a desperate whisper and Dean moved back reluctantly, only to press a brief kiss against the top of the kid's hair- just there and gone again. "I don't wanna be alone, Dean..."

"Look at me," he said, waiting for Sam to meet his intense gaze. "For as long as I got a single ounce of life within me- you'll never be alone, you hear me?"

It was the last thing that left his lips before the guards broke them apart and escorted Sam to the front row- where all twelve-year-olds were lined up.

Dean watched him go, smile faltering a little when Sam shot him another look over the shoulder.

It wasn't supposed to be goodbye, but somehow it still felt like it.

* * *

"Welcome, welcome, the time has come to select one courageous man and woman for the honor of representing district 12 in the 74th annual Hunger Games!"

The woman on the microphone was the same every year- Dean cringed automatically whenever he heard her voice- no matter whether it was on the TV or Radio or in real life.

She looked absolutely ridiculous in her butterfly-costume and with tons of makeup on her young face, but Dean had learned to blank her out in favor of slowing down his raging heartbeat.

"I know that look," a voice said from somewhere next to him. "Got your girlfriend in the crowd?"

Dean glanced up to meet the eyes of a twenty-something-year old guy with kind eyes and a warm smile. "Name's Caleb."

Dean shook the guy's hand numbly, not really sure why anybody would start a conversation in the middle of the fucking reaping, of all possible times. "Dean."

"So who's got you looking like you might throw up any second?"

"My little brother," Dean admitted quietly, wondering why he even bothered to tell the guy he had only just met a second ago. "He's only twelve… just a kid. I can't even—"

Caleb's eyes darkened with worry, his empathy written all over his features. "I'm sorry, man. For what it's worth, I hope he doesn't get picked."

The words were accompanied by an amicable pat to Dean's shoulder and the older Winchester brother found himself grateful for the stranger's empathy, even when it was short-lived.

The high-pitched voice of the speaker drew his attention back to the stage. "As always, ladies first."

Dean curled his fingers into fists by his side, watching her dig her hand into the crystal ball filled with all of their names- picking a ticket randomly, as if it didn't matter that it was her hand that condemned some innocent soul to die a cruel death in the arena.

"Johanna Beth Harvelle."

A garbled cry of bitter desperation echoed through the crowded square when the girl's mother broke down in tears, fighting a guard tooth and nails as her daughter was being dragged away by four peacekeepers.

Dean felt a sharp pang of sympathy for the woman, shivering at the thought of having to watch his own kid get dragged away by these monsters.

"Come up on stage, kid," the eccentric moderator demanded, gesturing to the empty place on her left.

The blond-haired girl looked absolutely terrified, her head lowered to hide the tears streaking her cheeks as she was practically shoved up the stairs by the guards.

Dean recognized her face from having seen he on the streets and at the black market, but he couldn't remember ever having talked to her.

Caleb knew her for sure, judging from the way his whole body tensed at the way she was manhandled up the stairs, the veins on his neck bulging visibly beneath the skin as he clenched his jaw in suppressed anger.

"A friend?" Dean hazarded quietly, eyes filled with sympathy.

Caleb's lips twitched. "Jo's like family," he corrected, sounding earnest. "She's too young for this crap. Too _pure_ …"

' _Tell me about it_ ,' Dean thought, feeling as if Caleb had taken the words right out of his mouth.

"And now for the gentlemen," the speaker continued in a cheerful voice and Dean felt himself go still, every fiber of his being on edge.

His heart stopped beating when the woman snatched a folded piece of paper from the urn.

Cold sweat broke out across his skin, soaking his clothes, running down his temples.

He couldn't do this.

He didn't want to.

He just wanted for his mom to be here- to comfort him. Wanted his dad to protect him- anybody to take this burden from his shoulders.

"And the male contestant for the 74th annual Hunger Games is…"

 _Please, god… please don't let it be—_

"Samuel Winchester."

Dean gasped, the blood rapidly draining from his face.

Pain flared through his chest, bright and destructive, like a knife cutting right into his stupid, frail, breakable heart.

His eyes automatically flew to Sam who was standing a few rows ahead of him, looking pale and horrified as he reluctantly stepped out of the crowd.

"No," Dean whispered, stumbling forward, his limbs moving on their own account. " _NO!"_

It couldn't be true.

It couldn't.

Sammy's name was only in there once.

They must have been mistaken.

But the peacekeepers were already walking to the front of the crowd, aiming right for the scared, wide-eyes, shaggy-haired kid Dean loved so much- the kid that was his only solace in a dark and gruesome world.

Sam moved forward on wobbly legs, his face gaunt and expressionless- almost as if he had emotionally distanced himself from the scene- or as if the news had left him in so much shock and disbelief that he couldn't process what was happening around him.

Dean's heart nearly ripped in two at the sight.

"NO!" he screamed, moving forward on his own account. "Sam! _SAMMY_!"

He couldn't let this happen.

He couldn't let them take Sam away- couldn't watch his brother be thrown into this arena.

"Dean—" Sam twisted around, his young features filled with obvious panic. " _Dean!_ "

Strong arms wound themselves around Dean, forcefully keeping him in place as he tried to sprint across the square to reach his brother. "NOO! Let me go, you sonofabitch, LET ME GO! SAMMY!"

"Well isn't this just precious…" the woman at the microphone cooed, totally unaware of the fact that she had just stomped Dean's heart with her High heels by picking the one ticket that held Sam's name from the masses of tickets in that goddamn' crystal bowl. "What a rare display of love here at the reaping of the 74th Hunger Games. It's heartbrea—"

"I VOLUNTEER!" Dean screamed, loud enough to be heard over the microphone as he squirmed and struggled against the peacekeepers' hold. "I volunteer as tribute! Take me instead of him, just let Sammy go."

"Dean, _no_ —" Sam cried out, shaking his head.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen I do believe we have a volunteer!"

The guards let go of Dean's arm and the older Winchester stormed forward the second he was released, dropping down on his knees in front of his brother and yanking him close for a heart-felt embrace.

"Noo," Sam cried, clutching Dean's jacket like a lifeline. "Please don't do this."

"I'm sorry," Dean whispered into Sam's mop of hair, cupping the back of the kid's head and savoring every precious second of what might very well be their last moment together. "I'm so sorry, kiddo…"

"You promised!" Sam shuddered in his hold, sobbing into his chest. "You said you wouldn't leave me."

"I know. I'm sorry, I wish I didn't have to…"

Sam just shook his head again, burying his small body tighter against Dean's side. "Hey, look at me, Sammy- can you look at me?" he brushed the kid's bangs from his eyes, looking down into the boy's blotchy eyes. "I need you to find dad—"

"No!" Sam protested, shaking his head, but Dean just continued talking. "You gotta find dad, you gotta get out of here, Sammy. You'll be fine, buddy… it's gonna be alright."

When Sam just clutched Dean tighter in response, refusing to let go of his brother, Caleb stepped out of the crowds, catching the younger Winchester around the waist and dragging him away from Dean.

"Nooo! Dean! Dean, _please_ —"

It must have been the hardest thing Dean's ever had to do- watching his little brother get dragged off by someone he'd only just met a couple of minutes ago and knowing that he was breaking the kid's heart with his actions.

"Let's have a round of applause for our volunteering tribute."

Dean was numb inside, eyes still unblinkingly fixated on Sammy, when he was being shoved up on stage and in front of a microphone.

"What's your name, dear?" the woman asked in an awfully cheery voice.

He swallowed a few times, trying to force his rapid heart rate to calm down.

"Dean Winchester."

"Well, Dean, am I correct to assume that was your little brother?"

Dean could still hear Sam's desperate cries from wherever Caleb had dragged him off to.

It was nearly killing him.

"Yeah," he rasped out, unwilling to elaborate.

The moderator seemed to notice his reluctance to participate in her little game of twenty-questions and gave him a fake, tight-lipped smile before turning back towards her colleagues. "I believe everything's settled then… we have found our tributes for district twelve- Mr. Dean Winchester and Ms. Joanna Beth Harve—"

"Wait a second," someone cut in from the side, causing several heads to turn around.

A man with an equally bad taste in fashion and wildly colored hair stepped out from beneath the shadows of the stage and walked up to stand beside the moderator. "You said that scrawny, dark-haired boy was your brother?"

Dean's eyes narrowed in suspicion and unease. "I'll take up his place," he repeated slowly, just in case the man hadn't gotten the memo. He didn't want these terrible people to even just think about his brother, much less talk about him or getting any ideas. "I'll do whatever you want, just leave him out of this."

The other man grinned at him, white teeth glinting dangerously in the morning sun. "See, that's the kind of spirit we're looking for. Loyalty, responsibility, _protectiveness_. It's true emotions like this that create an interesting game."

"What the hell are you saying?" Dean snapped, not liking where the man was going with this.

The man ignored him as he whispered something into the extravagant moderator's ear. Then he turned back to the crowd, eyes alight with mischief and cruel delight.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I believe you will all agree with me when I say that we would like to see more of the loving display of brotherly affection we've just become witnesses of under well, let's say more _extreme_ circumstances…"

No.

 _Nonononono…_

What was he doing? What the hell was this guy doing?

They've already decided. Dean was going to be a tribute instead of Sam. Was that really so hard to understand?

The guy with the colored hair clapped his hands and as if on cue, two peacekeepers escorted Johanna Beth back down the stairs and led her towards her mother.

Dean's whole body was shaking, his eyes filling at what he knew must be coming next…

"I'd like to ask Sam Winchester back up on stage… to join his brother as second tribute for the 74th Hunger Games."

 **The END.**

* * *

 _I don't usually do this kind of thing, since I was never really a big fan of crossover fiction. But I've always thought the storyline of The Hunger Games Series would fit incredibly well to the SPN characters and well, here we go. I just hope you guys liked it. Reviews on this would be so very much appreciated! Cheers :)_


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